Election Year
by Vorquellyn
Summary: 2 years after the end of the graphic novel Veidt struggles to maintain his utopia
1. Chapter 1

Warning: Strong language, possibly disturbing imagery, Bookverse spoilers  
Disclaimer: I don't own Watchmen or anything recognizable contained here

Notes: This will be the only one from an OC perspective. Chapter two starts two years after the epilogue of Watchmen.

Chapter 1: Picking Up The Pieces

I don't want to hurt  
I don't want to hurt you  
I don't want to hurt  
I don't want to hurt you

Eenie meenie minie mo  
catch a tiger burning bright

M. Start with M.

I don't want to hurt  
I don't want to hurt you

Middle. Media. Milk. Madness.

Flip it. W.

White Walls Watch... Wistfully? Wrong.

Start again.

I is for iteration.

R. Begin with R. Rabid. Reach. Reality.

White Walls Watch. Who Watches the Watch-

Middle. Milk. Meringue. _Murder._ Mirror.

See it in the mirror. Behind their eyes. Liars. Shiny new world. _Utopia._

S is for screaming.

I don't want to hurt  
I don't want to hurt you

PMS. Post Menstrual Syndrome. Perfectly Melded Symmetry. People Murdered Spontaneously? Simultaneously.

Month. Another gone.

R. No, P. Prison. Pickle. Pretty. _Psychic_.

What goes up, must come down. Symmetry. Millions murdered. Mask. Man? Monster?

T is for tentacles writhing rapidly.

I don't want to hurt  
I don't want to hurt you  
I don't want to hurt  
I don't want to hurt you

D? D? Descent, decay, death, devastation. Decadent doctors still shake. DDSS? Wrong, SSDD. Right but still wrong. L M N O P up above the world so high-

Shill. Sham. Murder? Murders. Madness? Yes. Stark. Stake. Silhouette in the doorway. No no no. Wrong! Raving. Ripped. Racing. Medical Examiner.

B is for building. B is for butchery. B is for... Blake? Yes. B is for blood and birth and biting.

Why won't it stop hurting?

I don't want- Shut up! Sing somewhere safe.

T is for Thorazine. Sedative.

***

M. M. M. M. Make it stop. E is for Echoes. Party Moral Standards. Murdered millions. Madness. Maine! Flap flap flap. Fragile flames fluoresce faster. Main? No. Maine. S is for salvation? Sanitarium. Minuteman? Mask? No. Near. Nigh. The End is Nigh. Neighbor.

Memory. Whose? Who watches the Wa- Whores and politicians. What? Not. Knot. Knot-top. Mason. Someone screamed.

Dead drunk. Death devastated. Drooling. Dribbling. Where? Maine. Where swear aware bear.

S is for shit. Goddamn sedatives! God damn sedatives. B is for blame. Best. Better. Make it stop. Make it better. Tentacles writhe rapidly behind their eyes. Bodies.

I is for imagination. Mind's Eye. Medical examiner. Morbid expression. Mirthful energy. Poorly Made Sanity. Raving must stop.

***

I think therefore I am? I am therefore I think? Who am I? Who am I not? Begin again.

What isn't me? Everything else excepted easy earnings. Mask? Man? Monster? Lying leech murdered millions.

P is for pins that hold us down. Us? Utopia. _No!_ Never never never never...

P is for piles of bodies in N for New York. P is for praise. D is for duped. E is for echoes. F... F is for food. No. Wrong. Mashed potatoes again. Unimportant. Baked beans? Mothman.

_Mothman_ is my neighbor. Mothman _is_ my neighbor. Mothman is _my_ neighbor. Mothman is my _neighbor._

Movement. Motion. Morality. P is for pattern. I is for inkblot. Never... never... never compromise! Not even in the face of Armageddon. Blood blot. Red snow. Game over.

I don't want to hurt  
I don't want to hurt you

Fingers. Feet. Bodies. Speak. Nice figment. Nail funny. Not funny. Damaged. Born broken bleeding burned. Fuck them all.

News? News. Nite Owl. Gun Bunny? Woman in leather. Big gun. Commercial break. Cue screaming.

T is for thorazine.

***

P is for privileges. R is for revoked. Choke. Joke. Die already. Fragile drunk drooling... fuck. S is for sigh.

B is for black. Blake. Byron. Baked beans. Blue. Manhattan. Gone. F is for facts. Face. They took my face. No, not mine. Tentacles writhe rapidly. Corrupt. White walls don't watch. White coats do. S is for straitjacket.

Must get out.

Motion forward. Circling. Raving. Momentum. Whip? Riding crop. Memory? Yes. Not mine. Tire tread through burst stomach. Dog. Dead dog. Dead dog stares dully. Nothing behind her eyes. Memory? Yes. Mine? Don't know. Stroked dead ears alone in garage. Memory? Yes. Mine? Yes. Not fair. Not fair. Not- New Frontiersman.

***

R is for request. D is for denied. F is for frustration. Must use words in future.

***

S is for success. S is for surprise. Eyes wide and white. Not supposed to speak? Sing often. No. Not for a while. Weird. Willows whisper watchfully.

S is for Socialist. C is for communist. H is for hero. M is for man. M is for mask. M is monster. S is for squid. Max Shea. Hira Manish. Back issues. Request denied. Pretty Much Screwed.

***

Bad day. No biting allowed.

***

Journal found. S is for smirk. C is for code. S is for shifting daily. Gave it back. Claimed therapeutic technique. Torment. Time. Thesis? Time to go.

***

Perhaps Many Swans. D is for desperate. How? Must get out. No pain. Spotless gloves.

Blue eyes watch. _Brittany._ Brittany the husky. Eyes empty. Not fair. Not my fault. Did everything right. Finger bones snapped in the bar. I is for information.

Dan. Dan Dreiberg. Ask neighbor.

***

T is for troublemaker. E is for enough. D is for disobedience.

***

D is for door left. E is for escape.


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: Strong language, possibly disturbing imagery, Bookverse spoilers  
Disclaimer: I don't own Watchmen or anything recognizable contained here

Chapter 2

Adrian Veidt awoke from yet another dream about a large black ship and a knot that turned into a pit of vipers. The intercom system chimed again. He padded silently over to it, part of him still listening for Bubastis as he woke up fully. "Yes?" His voice came out as smooth and controlled as ever.

"You requested to be woken up at six this morning, sir." His perky assistant informed him. "I left the files on the table the camera faces just like you said."

"Thank you." Adrian went out to where fresh tea was waiting for him. No caffeine to poison his body. He washed down his morning dietary supplements and flipped open a file.

The first was a review of the current political situation. Or rather a set of reviews by political analysts from all over the globe. It wouldn't do for him to fall behind on what other people thought the experts were predicting. Without divine intervention this was going to be Nixon's final term and as hopeful as the world was this was a delicate time. On the one hand there were those clinging to the old guard, a minority but a potential problem since people who had found prosperity in the Cold War were unlikely to relinquish it. On the other there were the radicals who felt the Nixon administration had ignored them and that now was their time to shine. In between were people who felt that now that Americans no longer held a stranglehold on Dr. Manhattan's technology that it was their time to lead and people who had benefited from America's meddling and wanted to maintain it.

From that mix had arisen the situation that led to the second file becoming necessary about eight months ago. He read it carefully, only pausing once to pet a cat that wasn't there once.

Adrian pulled out an elegant wireless phone and dialed a number he found in the file. "Yes, this is Adrian Veidt. If Dr. Li could talk to me at his earliest convenience I would greatly appreciate it."

***

Dr. Li was a small, balding man in his late fifties. He had almost met with Veidt enough times to no longer be dazzled by Veidt's money and reputation. Veidt watched him, giving him enough time to collect himself.

"You're here about the P killer, aren't you? I knew that one would get your attention." Dr. Li's head bobbed like a scavenger bird. Or a gull.

"He has my attention because he has your attention." Adrian prompted the psychologist.

"He's totally unlike all of the masks that popped out of the woodwork during the super hero resurgence. I could get a dozen papers out of that alone. But this one, he's completely different from all of the other Rorschach copy cats. As you know some of those are the most mundane killers. That man from Hartford who killed his girlfriend and three other people. That poor deluded soul from Toronto who thought he really _was_ Rorschach."

Adrian let Dr. Li find his rhythm before asking, "Where does the P killer fit into that?"

"Well, as I've told you before most of the copy cats fit into a handful of categories. You have your glory seekers, your people trying to cover up other murders and people who want to right wrongs in what they feel to be the footsteps of a great man. It doesn't help that they never found Kovacs' body. People see him almost as often as Elvis Presley now. Not that finding a body would have convinced some of these people."

"But the P killer..." Adrian trailed off to let Li fill in the blank.

"Look at this picture from eight months ago, when the fad started." Li pulled a large, glossy murder picture out of a file and slapped it down on the cheap, faux wood desk. "And here's one the police are mostly sure was killed by the real Rorschach late in his career." He placed another large picture next to the first. "And here's one by the P killer. What do you see?"

Adrian took a close look. "Rorschach's is the cleanest kill. And the first copy cat is the messiest."

"In general that's true." Dr. Li nodded again. "These marks here. The P killer hesitated. I'm pretty sure this is his first kill. This wasn't the righteous rage but the killer planned enough to be carrying a knife. He doesn't always use knives, quite like Rorschach in that way. A few of the copy cats have limited themselves to one weapon they feel comfortable with but this one uses screwdrivers, utility knives, broken bottles and he even garroted a man with a piece of wire once. Of course he also underestimated the length of time and amount of force it takes to make a grown man suffocate and wound up stabbing him with a pair of pliers in the base of the skull. But my point is that he went into this cold and he's adaptable. If I'm right about this being his first corpse then it's likely he made his first kill while patrolling."

"This is significant?" Adrian asked, not quite sure why he was beginning to feel tense.

"When the real Rorschach was starting out he was brutal but he left his victims alive. From what the late Dr. Long's notes say it was the Blair Roche case that drove him to kill. The majority of the copy cats view themselves as crime fighters and turn victims in. When they kill for the first time it's usually an accident. The P killer has never claimed to have turned a single criminal over to the police and this was no accident. The killer went looking for a criminal, found one and killed him."

"He left a card," Adrian fingered a torn off chunk of cardboard with back to back capital 'p's written in black magic marker. "But you don't think he's a glory hound."

"He not only left a card, he came prepared to leave a card. He's cold and he's smart and his handwriting is eerily similar to Rorschach's."

"He's picking up where Rorschach left off." Adrian named the thought that was running its icy fingers up and down his spine.

"No. Most emphatically not. It's strange. He follows Rorschach in the types of places he haunts, the manner in which he kills and the victims he prefers. But he lacks one crucial element of Rorschach's personality. He doesn't need people to fear him."

"He leaves calling cards by bodies with slit throats and he doesn't need people to fear him?" Adrian allowed disbelief to color his tone.

Li flushed. "This picture is from a body we found last month. It had been rotting for three days by the time we got to it. Here is a body from two days ago. The victim was attacked from behind. Never saw his killer coming." Li spread out the pictures. "Contrast this with Rorschach. The man wore a one of a kind mask. The angle of attack on most of the kills we believe are his point to his victims seeing him before he engaged. He would go to bars and break bones until he got the answers he was looking for. All of these point to someone who enjoys feeling powerful and gets power through fear. I could speculate on his relative size and the way his mother treated him but at the moment that would be just an intellectual exercise." Li held out his hands. "It always comes down to how the killer identifies himself. Everyone wants to be good and if they feel they can't then they settle for being good at something. Both Rorschach and the P killer have found criminals to be acceptable outlets for their need for violence. Killing criminals makes them feel accomplished, worthwhile. People avoid violence if they feel they can do something else to reach their goals. Those who are driven to violence portray those who are not as too weak to do so but the reverse is true." Li looked intently at his audience.

Adrian nodded slowly. "You still believe you'll have difficulty finding the P killer."

Dr. Li suddenly looked weary. "We're looking for a man who feels disenfranchised by the world. He is friendless and lonely. Everyone was so shocked when Rorschach was unmasked. They all wondered how such a runty, pitiable man could be so feared. With a few exceptions these killers are victims too. This one doesn't want to be found and goes against the pattern. Most of them start calm and controlled but escalate out of control as their needs outpace their abilities. If anything the P killer has done the reverse as he learns how to be quicker, more efficient. He doesn't taunt us because the point is not to prove he's smarter than us. I believe what he wants is to rack up a body count. He doesn't escalate to more difficult targets and I'm not sure how he picks his hunting grounds. It may be that even if he explains no one else would understand. He must want human contact of some kind but I'm not sure he's aware of it." Li sighed. "Long story short: He has a method. It works. Until we figure it out we won't catch him."

"There's nothing to lead you back to a lair of some sort?" Adrian knew that this emotion coursing through him was hope and that the sensation that this killer was gunning for him was paranoia. That didn't necessarily make it untrue. Everyone was gunning for him these days. It was the price of leading the pack. It was unpleasant but someone had to do it.

"The original Rorschach was practically an indigent. From what we've put together we doubt he trusted his landlady and neighbors enough to leave any signs lying around his home. I see nothing at any given crime scene that would have cost more than five dollars. There is no sign of trophy taking. Witness reports say the killer is using a simple ski mask to disguise himself in neighborhoods where that's commonplace. He will slip up but until he does we can't find him."

"Thank you for your time, doctor." Adrian said sincerely. "You know how I like to kept abreast of what those who claim membership to my former fraternity are up to."

"My pleasure, Mr. Veidt. The more of these people we keep off the streets the better we all are. We don't need to be hurting each other when others are lurking, waiting to do it for us."

"Exactly my philosophy." Adrian smiled warmly.

"Your insights into catching these men have been invaluable." Dr. Li said sincerely.

"Thank you. I like to think my contributions mean something." Adrian said as he left.

***

Adrian put in a call from a secure line in his office. "I would like you to leave a message in Seattle. At that post office box you found, leave a note." Adrian paused. "Say that Ramses II wants to talk."

***

Note: Reviews are welcome. I will be updating weekly on Thursdays after this point.


	3. Chapter 3

Sandra Hollis jogged up and down the cold, damp hills of Seattle with Sam at her side. In some ways it was a little like New York but only in the ways that all big cities were a little like New York. No place was like New York and never would be again. That wasn't why she liked Seattle though. She liked Seattle because it was completely unlike California. Long, blonde hair whipped around her face as she pounded up another slope. Today was their last day in Seattle.

Sam paused for breath at the top of a hill. "We have a new place. I can get a warehouse three miles away but no closer." He panted out in a low tone.

Sandra nodded, shaking out her legs. "Where's the checklist?"

"Top of the first suitcase in the rental." Sam stretched from side to side. "Want to stop by Burgers N' Borscht on the way back?"

"You already had coffee this morning." Sandra reminded him. "Did we get to everything on the list?"

"I need to swing by the post office. Check the box, get them to forward our mail and anything else they need." Sam smiled at her.

"Then we'll get out of all this fog." Sandra gazed back down the hill.

***

Sam took all of the mail from the Post Office to be read later. He only got around to them after they had unloaded their luggage at the train station and returned the rental car. They had a rental waiting for them in Dallas until they could buy a car. Or more likely, where Sam would buy a new car. Sandra always said that the air felt stale to her in Texas.

Sitting on the train he sorted through the various envelopes; a letter from Sally, advertisements, bank statements, bills, a letter from a private detective agency and a pamphlet about the New Church of Manhattan. He passed Sandra the note from her mother and opened the private investigator's letter. The message was simple:

Ramses II wants to talk.

"Hon." Sam kept his breathing steady and even as he passed the note to Sandra.

"How dare he?" she hissed.

"I'll get our ticket changed and call the Dallas people." Sam looked out at the scenery as it raced by.

"He thinks he can just call and have us come running." Sandra vibrated with indignation.

"He obviously knows where we are. If he wanted to stop us he could." Sam sighed. "I don't like it either but we should see what he wants."

***

The hotel room they were staying at in Oklahoma City was in good enough shape that the fixtures worked and there was no graffiti on the green wallpaper. The green curtains, carpet and patterned bedspread had obviously been bought in bulk. On the table that matched the chairs and bed frames was a thick packet of manila folders.

Sam removed his glasses to clean them and placed them back on his nose. The files were still there. "I guess he knows we changed our travel plans."

"I don't like this at all." Sandra shuddered.

Dan- _Nite Owl_ opened the first folder. "It's some sort of serial killer." A photo fell out of the bundle. "A serial killer who is acting like Rorschach." He frowned.

Laurie- _Leather Lamia_ took a few folders and sat on the bed. "Creepy. Why now? Haven't there been five of these already?"

"This is the seventh." Nite Owl said quietly, sitting. He flipped through a file until he caught sight of Veidt's handwriting. He stiffened, eyes widening. He picked up the next and flipped again until he found a note from Veidt and another three lines circled.

"Sam? Sam, what is it?" Sandra watched him carefully. As carefully as she had those first nights after they got back from Karnak and flicked the television set on to cover their conversation.

"-Representative Callum refused to comment on the allegations. Back to you, Fran."

"This- this- this _killer_ has part of my exo-suit. He's using it to protect his forearms." Sam slapped the papers onto the table and watched them spread.

Sandra stood and slipped into the opposite chair. "What does that mean?"

"The exo-suit was the only thing I left behind. The killer knew where to find it and knew enough not to try using the whole thing or he'd be dead already." Sam's hand clenched into a fist.

"Experts say Representative Callum still leads the polls ahead of Governor Nielson for the Republican Nominee for the Presidency." The TV panned to a courthouse in Maine.

"You know it can't be Rorschach." Sandra wished for a smoke.

"No, it can't be. But it is someone I know. Or someone who knows me." Sam stared at the TV.

"-After a message from our sponsors." The TV cut to a bright alpine lake while soothing music flowed calmly. "This unprovoked attack has hurt us all in ways we can't even begin to describe."

A woman with sallow skin and dark bags under her eyes appeared on screen. "But for some of us it was worse than others. All over the world millions are affected with symptoms ranging from sleep disturbances to hallucinations from the psychic emanations of the alien that touched psychics deeper than anyone else." A look of calculated pleading came over the woman's face. "My own daughter, Nina, took her own life two weeks after the disaster. On behalf of those with psychic loved ones everywhere please give to Psychic Treatment Research Fund. Even as little as five dollars a month can help us so much. Please give and help make our future a little brighter."

***

The chapters are coming out a bit short so I'm changing my update schedule to Tuesday and Thursday. Thank you for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Three days of staring at paperwork and trying to remember every trick Hollis had taught him left Sam with a massive headache. "I need to stop or I'm never going to be able to figure out what it means."

Sandra groaned and lay her head against the comforter in their New York hotel room. "I've been remembering why I was never interested in police work. He's six feet tall and built like a wrestler. He's a bit short and stocky. He's a gymnast. All at the same time. Unbelievable."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. "Police forensics suggest someone short and right handed."

"I'm glad we've narrowed it down." Sandra muttered sarcastically.

Sam's eyes snapped open. "Let's go visit some crime scenes. If we try to reenact one of them maybe we'll notice something. Anyway, it'll get us out of here."

Sandra stared thoughtfully ahead for a moment. "It beats beating up lowlifes in dives," she admitted.

***

Adrian kept his voice calm and measured as he paced the room. "I understand your concern, Governor. I fully support your candidacy but people have just had sixteen years and are ready for a change." Adrian paused with a deep breath. "Yes, but what about when the familiar becomes uncomfortable?" Adrian paused again. "Then we'll have to agree to disagree I'm afraid." As he hung up the phone Adrian reflected that this might be the first election in the better part of a century that a third party candidate stood a chance.

He eyed the phone, looked through his desk for an envelope and walked out to his secretary's desk. "Please send this in two days."

Adrian didn't wait for a response as he walked back into the spacious room that was his office. He dropped into his chair and began meditating on possible outcomes. Every time he felt a conclusion approaching the words "Nothing ever ends" reverberated through his head. With a sigh, Adrian pulled out a folder that showed signs of wear and tear from a stack of otherwise pristine folders. He stared at it, already knowing the contents by heart. Tachyon research was not profitable at the moment and people would start to wonder. He opened the folder and reread the first page of the report his donation to a little known physics institute had bought him.

***

Sam watched the streets, scanning for potential danger and avoiding litter. "The first one is here." He gestured at an alley as he ducked in. "So the rapist came in here and was standing like this." He turned his back to the wall of a crumbling tenement building.

Sandra circled around. "I have a box cutter." She held out a finger. "I stab you on the neck here and leave it behind. So I came from down the alley." Both she and Sam looked down the dim passage.

"How would you know to be down on this alley and not the next one?" Sam gave the place a puzzled look.

"By being either very smart or very stupid." She looked up.

"Fire escape is too unstable to have come down that way." Sam frowned. "But if he is following Rorschach's example you're probably right."

"He climbed down the brickwork. What kind of crazy person could do that without being seen?" Sandra shook her head. "The police assumed he'd been patrolling and followed from in front."

"It's what someone worried about a broken neck would do."

"Which is why it's wrong." Sandra looked around the dingy alley. "The other option is that he waited behind some trash."

"The victim was struggling, it was dark, and the rapist had a blood alcohol content of .2." Sam followed Sandra's gaze. "We either have a killer who lurks in alleys on the off chance that a crime will occur or a killer who risks life and limb crawling on walls."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Oh the glorious life of a police psychologist." Jamie Adams muttered under her breath while she sorted through boxes of police photos, witness depositions and all of the other paraphernalia that went with Dr. Li's job. "When I get my PhD I'm going to teach."

"What was that?" Dr. Li looked up with a frown.

"Nothing, Dr. Li. Just talking to myself." She braced herself for another one of his psychologist jokes but nothing came. "Dr. Li?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing nothing." Dr. Li smiled. "Nothing for you to worry about."

"I thought part of my internship was learning from you." Jamie raised a dark eyebrow.

"I merely noticed something the worst copy cats have in common." Dr. Li frowned. "Ericson and Gayheart may have been from the Midwest and West respectively but they were both in New England during the attack. Vermont and New Hampshire which is where Dwyer and Carson were from."

The room shook as someone on the street drove by with the stereo blaring.

"Here are the photos from the Cox murders, like you asked." Jamie handed them over. "There was a study a couple of years ago about the effect of hydrogen ions on the wind and rates of violent crime."

"It was bunk." Dr. Li waved a negating hand. "They assumed their conclusion and gathered data to match."

Jamie shrugged. "The people living near New York would have had more exposure to media about Rorschach when he was captured. When the alien attacked maybe-" Jamie waved her hands in a vague gesture. "It somehow blended together. All that death."

"Good hypothesis, Jamie." Dr. Li smiled. "What else supports it?"

"Well, each of them had behavioral problems before. Dwyer was fired from his job for drinking, Gayheart spent some time in jail on an assault charge, everyone interviewed said Carson was a gentle man who would never hurt a fly but he spent '78 in an institution after a nervous breakdown, and Ericson... no one liked Ericson. Even for someone used to butchering cows everyone thought he was creepy."

"How does Chase fit into that?" Dr. Li prompted his student.

"Chase was completely delusional. Toronto gets New York stations sometimes. He must have followed every detail of the Kovacs case and constructed his fantasy around that. His wife said he vanished last November and he'd never been to the States before. She complained about him being distant for months before that must have been when he was building on his hallucinations." Jamie nodded to herself. "Except he never had behavioral problems at work and his wife was shocked-"

"Wives are often shocked at the violence their husbands commit." Dr. Li shook his head. "A woman whose boyfriend beats her is still surprised when he does the same to her children. You're taking the witness testimony too seriously. Your idea makes sense but some of these men were almost entirely cut off from the media. Dwyer refused to buy a television set and only bought the local paper. He was deeply antisocial. Enough so that it would be more difficult for him to have enough knowledge for his killing spree than any of the others."

"So he what? Magically knew details about Rorschach?" Jamie asked with a smile that wasn't quite sardonic.

***

CHAINS BRAIN DOWN THE DRAIN

Sam stared at the strange graffiti. "At least someone is changing the decorations around here." Buildings loomed full of new refugees from the starving nations of the world. At some point Veidt had started a program to relieve third world nations by helping their people leave to find new lives in the large cities of better off nations. Including the city that had become a symbol of Veidt's brave new world: New York.

Sandra snorted in wry amusement then turned serious. "Are you sure you're ok with this?"

Sam shrugged in an almost convincing display of nonchalance. "It needs to be done."

They turned the corner and were in front of a storage locker. Through some legal sleight of hand it now belonged to Sam Hollis. Dan Dreiberg had started renting it in the early seventies in case he ever needed to move. It hadn't taken much to arrange for his exo-suit to be kept in it after the alien attack. It wasn't useful enough to keep with him, not even for the trip to Karnak but he might come up with an idea someday that he could use it for. He realized he was stalling and opened the locker.

The exo-suit lay in pieces with a light covering of dust. From what Sam could see the only pieces missing were what would be described as gloves and wrist guards. "This had to have taken a few hours." Sam noted, touching nothing. "Is it for defacement? It certainly can't be because they help in crime fighting."

Sandra just stared at the suit. It lay slumped like a dead body, empty of purpose.

Sam frowned and touched the floor near the suit's torso. His fingers came away with white dust. As he slipped on gloves he braced himself for any horrible sign that might be under it. He was unprepared for the smiley face that decorated the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"The best trick is to have half the information, fill in the rest with bad assumptions and still be correct." Adrian spoke to an empty room. "Rorschach was almost a master of that." His thoughts were clearer when he voiced them aloud. "He took a few data points and extrapolated a theory about someone trying to kill all masks. It says more about his frame of mind than any psychiatric report possibly could. Yet he and Daniel still traced things back quite adequately." Bubastis used to give him feedback, responding to his emotions as he spoke. He really should get a new pet. "Admittedly, I helped things along and lured them out to Karnak but he was still a very intuitive sociopath."

Adrian looked down at a shoebox full of notebook paper and Xeroxes of articles. "So what, if anything, would serial killer trying to think like him expect me to extrapolate from this?" The papers had been painstakingly stapled and paper clipped into different stacks. "There are no bloody trophies, weapons, or even anything screamingly obvious to point to the sender and the killer being the same person. There is however, a fifty page treatise on why I'm obviously behind the alien attack written in yellow and purple colored pencil. The colors are new but that's not the first time that's happened since the New Frontiersman published Rorschach's journal." Adrian sat back for a moment. "Probable conclusion: killer is giving me an excuse for not handing it over to the police. This is the start of a more personal relationship. Secondary possibility: the killer wants to see if I will hand it over to the police."

Adrian shook his head and stretched his fingers against the latex gloves that currently covered them. "Contents: A fifty page treatise on why I'm behind the alien menace. Copies of articles from every paper cited within the treatise including ones from overseas. An encyclopedia article on Alexander the Great. An encyclopedia article on Augustus Caesar. A flier for the New Church of Manhattan. A brochure for the Psychic Treatment and Research Fund. Governor Nielson's and Representative Callum's campaign platforms. Plato's "Allegory of the Cave" in Greek with a translation done by the killer and the part about the philosopher bringing people into the light underlined. An offer for piano lessons from one Sylvester Perry. An article on Mesopotamian agriculture."

"The killer has been spending time in the library." Adrian sighed. "If I hand it over to the police I risk another public outcry for reopening the disappearance cases. I can't very well go around asking librarians myself. I could use a private investigative service. Or I could contact Dan and Laurie." Adrian stopped cold. "Does the killer know Dan and Laurie are here? Does he think he can convince them to side with him? _Could_ he convince them to side with him?"

There was a knock on the door. "Sir, the Korean Prime Minister is on the phone."

Adrian bit down on the most important question. Did the killer know what Adrian wanted him for?

***

"-motion was passed for the creation of the nations of Kurdistan, Serbia and the Czech Republic by the-"

"Can you change stations?" Sandra asked the cab driver. "Thank you." She smiled brightly at him. "Don't seem to hear about much else these days."

The cab driver bobbed his head in what Sandra assumed was assent and the rest of the drive was spent in silence. Sandra got out of the taxi and paid him to wait. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to face the brownstone that had once been the residence of Dan Dreiberg, currently property of Sam Hollis and rented to the Pujari family. Sandra rapped smartly on the door.

It was opened by a woman in her late forties with a small child clinging to her. "Yes?" her accent was thick enough to spread on toast.

"Hi, I'm Sandra Hollis." Sandra flashed her driver's license. "I heard about your complaint about that draft in the basement and I was in the area and I thought I'd check it out." Sandra bubbled.

"No draft." The woman said suspiciously.

"Are you sure?" Sandra put on her best confused face. "Can I just check real quick?"

"What your name?" The woman squinted.

"Sandra Hollis." Sandra held her driver's license still this time.

"Ok. You come in. Wipe feet." The woman turned to yell at one of her children.

"Thank you. I'll just be a moment." Sandra navigated swiftly enough through the living portion of the house not to arouse anger. As she went down to the basement she was aware of two of the children following her. The steps down to where Archie used to sit were one step shorter, the floor was new concrete and the opening the Owlship had once used to leave was covered by a plaster wall. There was no sign that the basement was anything other than what you'd expect to find under a brownstone in a slightly better than questionable neighborhood. Except...

Sandra looked under the stairs and found a man and a woman sitting there. They gazed dully at her without blinking. Each of them had strange scars on their faces and the woman seemed to have lost the use of her right eye.

"We call them Eka and Do." A girl of about twelve told Sandra from the stairs. "They're husks."

"Oh." Sandra said quietly. She shook herself and put on the photo op smile her mother had taught her. "Sorry for taking up your time."

The child shrugged. "My aunt doesn't like it here. Keeps talking about how much better things were."

Sandra looked serious. "Take care of your aunt," she said kindly as she went back up the stairs.

The girl rolled her eyes. "That's what dad says."

Sandra laughed. "Sorry for the inconvenience." She left the house, unable to stop thinking about the dead eyes of the husks in the basement. She had heard about them but had never been forced to interact with them. When the psychic devastation had rolled off Veidt's monster it had killed everyone near it. But after a certain distance away it stopped killing them completely, in some cases it only killed their minds. The result was a group of people who would eat when told to and could do simple manual labor but had no drive to do anything on their own.

Sandra shook herself and forced her smile back into place as she got back in the cab. She gave him the address of a warehouse owned by Sam Hollis.

When she checked the warehouse she found that entrance had been uncovered. Nite Owl and Leather Lamia would have to come back tonight.


	7. Chapter 7

Nite Owl landed Archie gently by the entrance to the tunnel. He gave the steering yoke a thoughtful pat before following Leather Lamia out of the ship. She held her gun at the ready with a fierce grin that would have done a Valkyrie proud. He fingered the smoke grenades on his belt as he turned on a flashlight.

The tunnel was dark and damp with a musty smell from things growing on the walls and things that had crawled into the tunnel to die. For weeks after the alien attack people had been fishing dead rats out of the strangest places. His attention was pulled away from the smell as the flashlight illuminated more of the strange graffiti he had noticed outside his storage locker.

CHAINS BRAIN DOWN THE DRAIN

A set of crimson words declared, a trickle of water having marred the O in down.

MAINE STAIN THE GRAIN

Was emblazoned in maroon about fifteen feet down. Nite Owl switched the beam over to the other wall and found similar slogans in every color of spray paint.

"Was he huffing the stuff?" Leather Lamia muttered barely loud enough for her husband to hear.

Nite Owl paused when his light started to come across notes in grease pencil. "I'm going back to get a camera. Oz- Ramses should see this."

After he had more than two dozen pictures from various points along the tunnel he heard a thump and turned to look at his wife.

"Look at this." She held up a book and walked over into the light. To the pages of the sketchbook copies of newspaper articles were pasted. "He was trying to recreate Rorschach's journal."

"Where did you find this?" Nite Owl asked curiously.

"There's a waterproof box over there. This was the only thing in it." She paused. "Should we take it? He would know we were here if he did."

"Somehow, I think he knows anyway." Nite Owl shuddered as he checked the darkness again, seeing the mad ramblings of a killer painted all over the walls of what had once been his sanctuary. "Let's go hide Archie. I think people shouldn't see him right now."

"Good idea."

***

Veidt turned the pictures over in his hands. "You realize that you can't actually bring him in of course."

"What?" There was steel in Sandra's tone.

"Rorschach's old partner catches a copy cat of Rorschach? No, it gives far too much weight to the idea that Rorschach might be out there." Adrian sighed. "I wish it could be that simple. I need you to fi-" He trailed off staring at a picture of the notes in grease pencil.

"You see something." Sam did not bother to ask.

Sandra folded her arms across her chest. "Are we allowed to know what it is or are you going to keep us on short strings?"

Adrian shuffled the pictures and slipped them into his desk. "The killer is not working at random. There is a method."

"We could say the same about you." Sandra pointed out. "It doesn't make it any less crazy."

"If you insist on seeing it that way, I can't stop you." Adrian spread his hands.

"We'll be on our way then." Sandra tossed her hair.

Adrian plucked a business card off of his desk. "Talk to this man. He knows more about tracking down these copy cats than anyone else in his profession."

Sam took the card silently and walked out without another word.

***

"Sylvester Perry was found in his home with his throat slit and a calling card left by the notorious Rorschach copy cat known as the Picky killer by police." The taxi radio rambled as Sam and Sandra went back to the hotel room to prepare for another night of sleuthing.


	8. Chapter 8

Sylvester Perry's house was not a complete dump. The plumbing and light fixtures worked. Most of the paint on the inside was still on the walls and the first two rooms a visitor would see were flawlessly well kept and welcoming. But there were cockroaches in the kitchen where Mr. Perry had met a razor embedded in a piece of soap. The bathroom had a spreading greenish black stain of mold.

Nite Owl flinched when the refrigerator kicked on with a thump to wake the dead. Sylvester Perry's blood stained the once white linoleum in a symmetrical pattern. He had been a sixty seven year old man who drew his pension from the city and taught piano on the side. His neighbors denied any knowledge of who might want to kill him and hadn't heard a thing. Mr. Perry had never married, never had children and had no will.

Leather Lamia came back to the kitchen. "Killer forced the bedroom window open. From the looks of the place he was the one who oiled it beforehand."

Both masks wandered back into the living room where the house was disturbingly normal. The couches were old enough to be worn while still looking comfortable. The table and chair were one step above garage sale material. It was the piano that truly dominated the room. The sleek, black finish shone like a mirror.

Nite Owl ran a gloved hand over the glossy surface before opening the lid to look down at the black and white keys. "No signs of a robbery according to the police." Black and white in different patterns but never mixing.

The leather clad woman shrugged. "It would be out of character if he had."

Opening the piano up so he could see the strings, he felt around in its depths. "True, that pimp had a full wallet when police found him." Nite Owl pulled out a piece of torn cardboard.

"Behind you," it read in black magic marker.

With a slow casual gesture that made Leather Lamia place her finger on the trigger of her gun Nite Owl turned to face the direction they had come. In the doorway stood a short figure balanced alertly and watching them. He heard the creak of Laurie's costume as she moved to a better line of sight in the deafening silence. The eyes caught his attention as they darted behind the safety of the ski mask. He had only seen Walter's eyes briefly and they had been utterly unlike this.

"Why did you kill him?" Leather Lamia asked.

Dark eyes, almost black seemed to stare absently into the middle distance, focused on nothing and anything for so long both heroes thought there would be no answer. Slowly the killer opened a gloved hand to reveal a cockroach. Its antennae wheeled wildly about as it tried to crawl away. With the same deliberateness of motion black gloved hands crushed the life out of the insect.

"All life is filth, is that it?" Dan's voice quavered slightly but anger pushed him past the feeling of familiarity that made no sense. There was no black and white shifting mask though the trenchcoat was similar. The killer was even shorter than Rorschach without his platform shoes. but there was something about the set of the shoulders, the placement of the feet and the unnerving silence that was too much like Rorschach for a stranger.

"Not you," The voice was a husky whisper that betrayed no emotion and didn't match the vagueness in the eyes.

"That's comforting." Laur- Sandra said sarcastically.

The vague look was replaced by a thousand yard stare. "Never liked you either, Miss Jupiter."

"What do you want?" Ni- Sa- Dan asked more sharply than he'd intended.

The killer blinked slowly. "Retribution." The word seemed to have been ripped free.

To his own surprise Dan sighed. "Can you set aside the script for a moment or will your mind melt?"

"Melt. Melted. Molt." The whisper took on an almost sing song quality. "Bird born bored-" There was the sound of teeth clicking shut.

Dan felt a migraine coming on and sighed again. He looked back at Laurie and saw behind her mask the same revulsion from whenever she was forced to deal with Rorschach now tinged with horror. "I thought so. What's the P stand for?"

The only answer they received was a nearly soundless retreat.

Leather Lamia burst out the front door and ran around almost catching the killer climbing out the kitchen window. Nite Owl was a dozen feet behind Leather Lamia when she hit the fence. The killer had already gone up and over with a lightness of foot that left them with no doubt about his capacity to climb walls.

They lost the killer after six blocks of weaving through alleys.

Leather Lamia swore. "How did you know about the mind thing?"

"His answer." The killer wasn't faster than Adrian but he was much quicker than they had expected. "That's exactly what Rorschach said when I asked him what he wanted to do about the Comedian's murder. Tone of voice, body language, lack of tone of voice, everything."

Leather Lamia grabbed his arm and gestured at the figure outlined in the yellow of the streetlight. The way he flinched and turned away was familiar but unlike Rorschach. Both of them stayed put. "I'm thinking we shouldn't follow the madman back to his den just yet. What was Rorschach's opinion on booby traps?"

"As long as they wouldn't hurt innocents." Dan said numbly. "I almost remember who that looks like."

"Me too." Laurie said with a frown.

***

"He's escalating." Dr. Li looked torn between fear and triumph. "He's starting on the pattern that will bring him down."

Adrian felt less optimistic but then he hadn't shared the shoebox and now there was evidence that he might have known about the Perry murder before it happened. Somehow, he doubted the killer was going to hold it over him. It would be petty. "Do they know why Mr. Perry was targeted?"

"They've been asking some of his students, discreetly, and sadly, yes." Dr. Li sighed. "It can't make it to the papers or the killer might be made more sympathetic and we don't want that."

"No." Adrian said quietly. "Definitely not."

***

Vote for the World Cooperative Party! Our platform supports a policy of national aid and economic reform. We've tried trusting the government now let's try trusting each other.


End file.
